


Hero

by thethingthathasnoname



Series: Hero [1]
Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: M/M, Protective Frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 19:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethingthathasnoname/pseuds/thethingthathasnoname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grayson stumbles upon an unfortunate scene involving a certain someone from Special K. Will he leave it be or can he be a hero? Because there's just not enough Stephen and Frank in the world. A little OOC but I tried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero

The night was cold, dark and empty. Like Frank Grayson’s soul. Must be why he liked this time of evening so much. He walked alone through the backstreets, and alone was exactly the way he liked things; no expectations, no demands, no worries. He could just stroll along, terrifying the shit out of a couple of pigeons here and there, sometimes literally, and not have to bother about anything. This was his domain, his town, his safe house. The backstreets of Watford, Hertfordshire… hmm… perhaps not much to brag about. But still.

He was walking up the main street, hollow as a ghost town, listening to the sound of his own curling breaths and heaving footsteps. It was completely silent, with only the buzz of the streetlamps and the whisper of rats and flies to keep him company. Silence. Ah. But as Frank sauntered past Zizzi’s, the notorious hotspot of late-night action here in Watford, he was disappointed by rude noises breaking his peace. The sounds of heavy boots on bin bags and pizza crusts crowded his ears and Frank sighed. Bastards, whoever they were; maybe a couple of goofs trying to get it on in the alley, perhaps a pair of thieves breaking in for stale pasta, possibly your average good-for-nothing thugs loitering about the dingy dregs of this town. Frank didn’t really care and intended to get on with his way. He was walking on past, minding his own business, when he heard more crunching and snapping from the alley. He quickened his pace, wanting to leave the noise-makers to it. But then he heard voices.

“Come on, pretty boy.” Came a snarling growl.

Frank estimated the owner was, say, a middle aged man, muscled, thoroughly tattooed.

“What’s the matter? Charming, attractive men like us should be exactly your type.”

Make that _two_ balding males. Frank sighed again and walked on. Nothing to concern himself with. But then came the reply.

“I prefer my men un- _creepy_ , thank you.”

And Frank only knew one person who spoke with that much, what could only be called, gay sass. He stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, honey.” A voice hissed. “Don’t be like that.”

Frank could feel his blood run cold. This wasn’t happening.

“Let’s have a little fun, shall we, darlin’? Why don’t we have a little fun?”

Frank hesitated.

“Urgh! Get OFF of me!”

That was it. Frank turned around and headed back towards the alley. As he turned the corner, the most horrific sight met his eyes.

Stephen Carmichael was being shoved up against the alley wall by two beefy, bulging men, exactly the type Frank had predicted. None of them were paying any attention to Frank right now, though that would soon change, as they seemed to have enough to do pushing Stephen’s shirt up his chest… revealing some incredibly chiselled abs. Frank almost blushed. God, it just had to be Carmichael didn’t it. The freaking pouf from Special K. He could just leave. He should just leave. He had no right, no reason, to be here. Other than the fact for some reason he felt… I dunno… something for freaking Carmichael. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him. It wasn’t like proper feelings or any of that crap, just something, you know… whatever. Frank shouldn’t be here; he wasn’t a hero or anything, just some kid bully. He had nothing here. He quietly started to step backwards. But froze again when one of the men continued.

Still sliding his smarmy hands all over Carmichael’s toned muscles, the biggest man continued “Shall we play a game?”

“Perfect, how about hide and seek… I’ll hide, you seek.” Stephen tried, but his eyes were too wide and his voice was too shaky.

“I’d find you in seconds, sweet-cheeks. I’m like a sniffer dog when it comes to locating SCUM.”

The man spat and emphasised his point by slamming Carmichael’s back against the wall before leaning in even closer.

“I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘escaping from a flaming dumpster’.”

Stephen’s eyes grew wider and he took a sharp breath in. “After you.” Stephen swallowed.

“Ladies first.” was the reply.

And with a single nod, both men grabbed Stephen, sliding their hands all over him as they did so. One of them reached his fist back and punched him hard in the stomach. Stephen winced, but at least it wasn’t the face. Oh god, if they dared to touch his face, he might have a mental breakdown. Stephen that was, not Frank. Frank wouldn’t mind… much. Oh, come on. That guy’s face is beautiful… everybody thought so. Not just Frank. Whatever, man.

“Get off me!” Stephen screamed and Frank felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He had to do something. But he couldn’t. But he had to. Fuck. Fuck you, Carmichael for being so fucking… fuckable… What?

“Yes, gayboy, this is more like it. I like to see you mooove.”

“Come on, bitch, in you go.” They started lifting him into the dumpster, despite his struggles, and Frank saw one of them reach into their pocket for a lighter.

Oh, for FUCKS sakes. Dammit Carmichael. Fucking weak, Carmichael. Fucking gay, Carmichael. Fucking hot, sweet, funny, sexy, kind, mesmerising… unattractive, completely platonic Carmichael. FUCK YOU, Frank mentally shouted, before stepping out of the shadows.

“Alright, alright.” He drawled, quietly. “Lads, you’ve had your fun. Don’t you think it’s over now?”

All three heads snapped to face him; the two men looking confused and Stephen’s jaw practically dropping off his face.

“Frank?!” he exclaimed; half questioning, half disbelieving. Frank just shrugged awkwardly at him.

The men recovered quickly too, however, and the bigger took a step forward. “And who’s this? Are you his boyfriend?” he sniggered.

Frank had to focus hard not to blush.

“Come to join in, have you, love? Well, I’m afraid he’s taken tonight…” The second man jeered.

“Yes, I am his boyfriend, so what?” Frank spat, finding his voice, although unsure of what he was actually saying or why. “And don’t you ever call me ‘love’ again.”

Frank glared. He was really getting into this fight. It was like a red mist was clouding his vision and his brain. What was going on? Why did he care so much? Why the fuck did he care so much?? The men actually looked pretty worried.

“Or what?” one of them tried.

Frank looked him dead in the eyes. “I don’t think you even want to know.”

The man visibly gulped.

The other trained to maintain his bravado. “So you think you can take us, gayboy number 2. Come on then. What are you going to do? Dance us to death?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Frank retorted.

“What do you want to call it? Ballet? Or, sorry, contemporary??” they laughed, shakily.

“No… I like to call it punching you little gits in the face.” Frank replied, his voice low and straight. “So come on then, lads. Let’s dance.”

He cocked his head to one side, then the other, his neck clicking loudly.

“Come on, then.” The men tried to sound tough. Frank considered that they had never actually had any experience in fighting. He reckoned they always picked on weaker targets than themselves and appeared too scary to be confronted, the little cowards. He grinned. Perfect.

Frank lunged, fists up near his face, as though he was going to punch. Instead, he just slammed his feet on the ground making the dumpster shake. The men jumped. Stephen, who was still being held back by the men, was gaping.

“Let him go.” Frank said, advancing again.

“NO.”

Fine then.” Frank got right up in the bigger man’s face, spat once. Then he stepped back, dropped low, and swung a punch.

Bam. Clean. Straight into his stomach. Bam; another one to the ribs. Pow. One to the face. Then crash, bang, wallop and Big Guy 1 was cowering in the corner nursing a broken nose, a couple of snapped ribs and, possibly, a sprained ankle. Big Guy 2 was looking more hesitant now, although he was still holding on tightly on Stephen. The little wanker.

“We can do this the easy way…” Frank indicated Stephen. “Or the hard way.” Frank indicated his fists.

“Erm.” The man faltered. He glanced at his companion for advice, who merely growled, probably ashamed at being beaten up by a kid. “Come at…” he began, but never even got to finish.

Frank pounced on him, hammering ten solid punches to the stomach, chest and head. It took less than 10 seconds for him to join his friend.

“Just fucking take the little shit, it’s obvious you care about him so much.” The man conceded. “I hope you two have a fucking happy life together, you lesbians.”

And with that Frank grabbed Stephen and helped him out of there.

It soon became pretty clear that Stephen had taken some pretty bad blows before Frank had got there. They’d probably taken him by surprise, the wimps. No wonder he hadn’t used that amazing kick that Frank knew all too well. Remembered every single detail. Because it was such a fucking amazing kick. And nobody had ever tried anything like that before. That’s why. Nothing else.

They managed to hobble a few streets before Stephen signalled to stop. There was an awkward silence. Then:

“What are you doing?” Stephen asked.

“Well, it looks like I’m saving your fucking backside, init.” Frank mumbled.

“Er… why?” Stephen pressed.

“I dunno… Are you complaining??” Frank retorted, slightly pissed off. “If you want I can take you back there and put you in that bin meself.”

“No, no.” Stephen blushed, the red just powdering his perfect cheeks. Hot. What? Stop it. “I mean I just thought you, like, hated me?”

“Nah, I don’t hate you.”

“I thought you were homophobic and shit.”

“Why?”

“You treat me like shit.”

“I treat everyone like shit.”

“Oh.” And for some reason that seemed like the best explanation of equality Stephen had ever heard. “Well, er, thanks and stuff, babes. Sorry, not babes… gah… you know, or babes, if you want, but if you don’t want then not… er.” Stephen blushed even more.

But then again, Frank did too. “You’re, er, welcome, and that.” Frank mumbled. “You alright? Not too fucked up?”

“I’ll survive. Only thanks to you… my hero.” Stephen finished, looking up at Frank through his lashes.

This just made Frank blush even more and stubbornly look away.

Stephen perched himself on a bollard while Frank stood over him. Another awkward silence settled with neither entirely sure what to do. It was only now, when Stephen was no longer at risk of death, that he realised how cold it was. He watched his breath floating out of his mouth like drops of pearls against the dark night. He shivered viciously. Then blushed and looked away, not wanting to seem weak.

Suddenly, he felt something warm against his shoulders. He turned his head back to find Frank gently placing his own jacket over Stephen’s shivering form. He was about to reject it, considering something along the lines of “oh, no, he couldn’t possibly” but Frank was still looking determinedly up to the right, with a slight red tinge to his face and neck, deliberately avoiding eye contact. So Stephen simply mumbled thanks and pulled the grey hoodie closer around him.

It was warm, and slightly oversized on him, which was kinda nice. It smelt of cold strength and aftershave, a surprisingly comforting smell. He huddled further into it, letting the smell and the soft fabric surround him like a shroud. He felt himself smiling madly and then checked himself. He was getting far too carried away; this was Frank’s jacket, remember? Not some Prince Charming… Frank Grayson? School bully and general, all round dick. But right now, it didn’t feel like that. He was being, dare he say, nice? And he had just saved him from, pretty much, death. Oh god. This was such a weird night. He only came out to have a pizza with Chantelle. And then there was a near death experience with a couple of thugs in the alley. And now Frank Grayson had saved his life and given him his jacket. What the hell was happening? Was this a dream? But then why the hell would he be dreaming of Grayson??

Stephen allowed himself a covert check of Grayson. He was standing right in front of him, but still with his eyes firmly averted, as though not looking at him would make this all go away. Or maybe he was just embarrassed. Stephen wondered how often he did this; was he like some hero of the night? No, come on, he was getting carried away. This was still freaking Frank Grayson. Just because he was being nice tonight didn’t really mean anything. But still. A boy could dream, right?

So, he allowed himself to carefully check Grayson out. His eyes started at his feet with his rugged trainers and tattered jeans. Oh well, not everyone could have as good fashion taste as Stephen. But as his eyes travelled slowly up the legs, he ended up finding all these little nuances that told him so much. For example, he could see muscles just weaving within the baggy jeans, appearing slightly in certain places. He could also tell he was used to being about a lot as the jeans were worn down and ripped in certain places. His eyes continued upwards finding his stomach, his chest, his arms. He was thin, unexpectedly thin for someone who probably gorged off McDonald’s and Morrison’s value ready meals. And his chest was toned and fair, prominent through the thin, greying t-shirt that Frank was left with now that Stephen had his hoodie. He must be freezing, Stephen thought, and considered giving it back to him, but for some reason he really didn’t want to. Stephen’s eyes then travelled down his arms, finding biceps he had never seen before and big, hefty, lean hands that looked like they could break a bear while playing the piano. What he could do with those hands… Stephen blushed, and brought his gaze away from them up to his neck instead. And then finally, the face. His jaw and cheekbones were prominent and perfect. He would have been attractive if he wasn’t always so hidden away in a hood or slouching in the corridors. His hair was short and blonde and neat, something Stephen had never even considered before. And then his eyes. Still looking away, focused on something far in the distance. Stephen doubted he even remembered he was still there. His eyes, which Stephen had always thought to be grey and cold, were actually a warmer shade of brown. They looked almost gentle, glinting in the artificial streetlamps, and welcoming, like you could just fall into them. They looked deep, whirling pools of thought, whispering hopes and fears and memories. The real Frank Grayson was right here, Stephen saw. Even if he was being a bit over-romantic, there was no doubt that the bullying Grayson from school was nothing like this kind Frank, his hero.

Stephen blinked suddenly, and became aware of the fact that the eyes that he had been so fantastically dreaming about were actually now looking right back at him. Shit. Caught right in the act.

“You alright?” Frank asked, looking slightly unnerved, but not exactly wierded out… Stephen hoped.

“Er, yeh, fine.” Stephen replied, embarrassed.

He coughed once.

More awkward silence.

“So…” Stephen attempted. “You do this often?”

“What?”

“You know… prowling the streets, saving damsels in distress, being a general hero?” Stephen laughed, trying to break the tension.

“You’re my first.” Grayson almost smiled, the edges of his mouth slightly curling up as he looked down at his feet.

The overall effect was incredibly cute.

“Well, I’d like to thank you, again.” Stephen grinned, even though he wasn’t sure why he did so. There was just something about finding this new side to Frank.

“You’re, er, welcome. I guess.” Frank smiled fully, and it warmed Stephen’s heart. “What were you doing out alone this late at night. Hasn’t anybody warned you about the bad guys that lurk in the backstreets?” Frank sounded like he actually cared.

“I could ask you the same question.” Stephen stuck his tongue out.

“Touché.”

“Well, get you with your fancy words.” Stephen laughed again.

“Just cos I don’t try, it don’t mean I’m dumb, you know.” Frank replied, seriously. “Not my fault I got other things on my mind all the fucking time.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Stephen blushed. Shit, what had he done. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright. Easy mistake.” Frank did his sort of half smile again and Stephen couldn’t help but return it with a full out beam. “You never told me why you were out.”

“I just went for a pizza with Chantelle. Nothing too glamourous or exciting. Just she left and I was walking home when the little shits jumped me from behind as I was walking past the alley.” Stephen explained and Frank made a low growling noise somewhere in his throat - he had been right, they were such pricks. “You alright? Look, I’m fine, it’s all ok. No harm done.” Frank still looked angry but his fists uncurled from where Stephen was pretty sure he hadn’t even known they were curling at his sides. “Now, your turn; why were you out alone so late with all the thugs on the loose?”

“And what makes you think I’m not one of those thugs?” Frank challenged with a gleam in his eye.

“Cos you saved my life.” Stephen countered. Frank blushed.

“When you put it like that, it sounds so heroic. But I was literally just walking past, I couldn’t leave you.”

“It was heroic. You easily could have. I thought the Grayson I thought I knew would have.”

“So did I. But apparently, I’m not that person most of the time.”

“Well, I’m glad. Would it be possible to be the real you more of the time?”

“I’m afraid it don’t work like that.” Frank seemed to hesitate a little, before shrugging and continuing, joining Stephen on the bollard. In for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s just… I come here, like, every night, or whatever. And just walk around, and stuff. Alone. It’s just like easier that way. Get away from home and shit. Get away from everything. It’s nice, I guess. Makes it easier to think, get me head round stuff. Escape. I can’t think when there are people shouting and screaming or gossiping and arguing. I can’t deal with it. So I just sort of turn it all off and just don’t bother. And that’s when big, bad, bully Grayson comes out to play. But Frank’s still here somewhere. And when I’m alone, I guess, that’s who I am.”

Then he seemed to realise what he had just said and blushed.

“But you’re not alone now.” Stephen whispered. And whether he was referring to the fact that Stephen was here and he was still himself or that Stephen was going to be here for him, neither of them knew. But it was still a beautiful sentiment.

“Nah. Guess not.” Another silence rested, but it wasn’t awkward.

They sat, side by side on the luminous bollard, hands resting just next to each other. They were looking straight forward, but every now and then, one would glance at the other and their eyes would meet and it was like a flash of electricity sparked in the cold air between them. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, Stephen slid his hand along the bollard, just to lightly touch Frank’s hand. Their fingers brushed and Stephen saw Frank stiffen and blush. He froze. But then, Frank lifted one finger and just gently brushed it against Stephen’s. He was staring persistently forward, but it was a deliberate movement. Both their heart beats were racing, heads light and airy, breathing fast and shallow, practically panting. Stephen gained confidence and moved his hand further, intertwining their fingers, making Frank glance at him. He merely smiled. Frank ducked his head, but Stephen saw his little mouth-curve before he looked away.

They stayed like this for a while. Just sitting, holding hands. Basking in the silence and the comfort of the other’s company. It was getting later, but neither seemed to notice time passing; they were so absorbed in their own thoughts, mainly of the other.

And then, they gradually became aware of faint flickers of coldness hitting their skin. Frank noticed it first, as he was the one without a jumper, and put his hand out, feeling the droplets tickling it. Stephen glanced up, getting a drop right on his nose. Frank laughed, without thinking, and brushed it off. They smiled at each other again, but soon realised that the rain was already starting to fall faster and harder.

“Are you alright to get going?” Frank asked Stephen.

“Yeh, I’ll be fine. It wasn’t anything too bad.” Stephen shrugged, only wincing slightly.

Frank stood up and offered Stephen his hand to get up. He accepted and pulled himself up from the bollard. He was actually alright, just a little stiff. A good sleep would cure everything. Except, perhaps, this weird feeling towards Frank. But then again, Stephen wasn’t exactly sure he wanted it to be cured.

Together, they walked down the main street, heading towards Stephen’s house. The rain was getting heavier and they quickened their pace. As the heavens opened and the rain poured out, they were flat out running, as fast as Stephen could with his injuries – although thank god for those dance classes and his strong body. They were getting drenches but laughing as they did, hands clasped together. They were about a street away from Stephen’s house when he suddenly stopped. As their hands were joined, Frank was swung around to face him.

They were stopped directly under a streetlight and the glow created a hazy, dreamlike feel to the bubble around them, glinting off the droplets making the air shimmer and shine. They were both soaked, with grins plastered to their faces.

“What is it?” Frank asked.

“Have you never seen a rom-com?” Stephen laughed. “Kiss me, you nob.”

“What?” Frank blushed, believing he must have misheard.

“Just shut up. And kiss me. My hero.” Stephen finished and just as he did so he felt Frank’s lips claim his.


End file.
